


Simonrella

by chinchillasinunison



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Bruises, Cinderella AU, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, Lizards, M/M, Male Cinderella, Mild Blood, Physical Abuse, Pigs, Transformation, also piggy is an actual pig here isn't that sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinchillasinunison/pseuds/chinchillasinunison
Summary: The Lord of the Flies Cinderella AU/retelling that's not the one the fandom deserves, but the one it needs.





	1. Chapter 1

_Tug, tug, tug. Tease, tease, tease. Up and down and around and back again and again…_

This was the extent of yet another repetitive task that was assigned to Simon; taking the locks upon locks of thick black hair that hung from Roger’s head and turning them into something presentable. Such labor in it of itself wasn’t the problem. At least, not the one that was most noticeable at the moment. He’d been something of a scullery maid at Merridew Manor for ages, practically his whole life. He wasn't sure why; it had something to do with debts his mother had to pay to the former owners, but he was fuzzy on the details. It’s not like the “whys” of it even mattered to him anyway; all the parties involved in that were already six feet under for a while now. And besides, he’d gotten used to work like this over the years, like how you get used to a stubborn headache or a limp. No, the problem mostly had to do with Roger being quite squirmy at the moment. It was unusual for him, as Roger was never one to be in any particular rush to go anywhere. Today, however, as Simon knew, things were different. Roger had a very good reason to be impatient, but that sure didn’t make Simon’s job any easier. The fact that Maurice was also in the room and being his usual overly-talkative self didn't help matters.

“Hey, Simon!”

Simon kept working, his eyes locked on the two pieces of hair he was twisting together into a braid.

“Simon…” Maurice repeated irritably.

Again Simon paid him no mind.

“ _Simon!_ ” Maurice called out finally while hurling a coat hanger in the other’s general direction, in a last-ditch effort to get his attention.

Simon turned away from Roger’s hair, his hands still well at work, “What is it?”

“Do you think this shade of purple is _just_ bright enough to stand out, or is it too gaudy?”

He looked over Maurice's purple bowtie. The tint of the fabric was so bright that it burned his eyes. But he knew better than to criticize someone so above him out loud.

“Yes, yes, it looks fine,” he said quickly.

Simon wasn't sure what he did wrong with his hands while he spoke. Maybe he tugged a strand too hard and ripped it out, or maybe he tied the braid too tight. Whatever it was, he knew it must've been bad, because of how loud Roger cussed in pain and how hard he slapped Simon in return.

The air hung silent for a moment as Simon recovered and held his aching cheek, excluding Roger grumbling some _very_ choice words for him under his breath. Then Maurice erupted with laughter, the type of desperate laughter that only came out during the most uncomfortable and tasteless of circumstances. Simon scurried out of the room, mumbling something about having more chores to do.

In his rush to leave, Simon happened to plow directly into the head of the estate.

“Watch where you're going, you clumsy twat!” Jack barked.

“I'm so sorry Mr. Merridew!” Simon squeaked, his words rushing out so quickly that they tripped over themselves. He reached out his hand, “Here, let me help you--”

“No! I don't need any of _your_ help,” he spoke bitterly as he lifted himself off the floor, “Why don’t you go… scrub the floors or something, and get out of my way!”

“Mr. Merridew, I, uhm,” he pushed some cords of his long, dark, unkempt hair over his face, trying to hide the mark that was forming on his cheek, “I’ve already scrubbed the floors, sir.”

Just in that moment it struck him how strange calling him “sir” and “Mr. Merridew” felt. Jack was only his senior by maybe a year or two, after all. If it wasn’t for their obvious difference in social standing, they might’ve been schoolmates together or something.

“Really? Already scrubbed the floors?” Merridew parroted, tapping his chin, then he asked, “Did you sweep too?”

“Yessir.”

“Everywhere, even by the fireplace?”

“Of course.”

Merridew looked a bit sweaty. Simon was usually one who took his time with these sorts of things. There was something going on. Something that he likely wasn't going to enjoy.

“Did you dust? Mop? Do the dishes? Wash our clothes? Shine our shoes?”

He listed them off with a slight fretful tremor in his voice. He didn't want Simon to do anything other than work. Idle hands were the devil's playthings, after all, and he’d rather not find out what the devil had in store for him just yet.

“Yessir, to all of them.”

Merridew scratched his face and glanced away, “Well, someone’s been a busy bee. Why’s that?”

“Oh!” Simon exclaimed, with both excitement and nervousness, wringing his hands as he spoke, “Well, uhm, you see, Mr. Merridew, I wanted to get all my chores done early, because I wanted ask something of you.”

“And just _what_ is that, exactly?” he asked, his nose just slightly upturned, so it gave the impression that he was looking at an unsightly spot on the floor than another human being.

“Well, I was just thinking…” Simon continued, his uneasiness beginning to overtake his eagerness, “The prince’s ball is tonight, and you, Roger, and Maurice are already going, so maybe you could… let… me… you know...?”

Merridew was silent for a few seconds. Then he burst out into a noisy, snort-filled laugh.

“Y-you want to go to the ball?!” he wheezed, “You?! At the prince’s ball?! In your dirty little… potato sack tunic-thing! Oh, that’s rich!”

“But sir, I--”

“Hush!” he put a finger to Simon’s lips, “I don’t want to hear it! You’ll make us all laughing stocks, Simon! In front of the royal family, no less!”

“But, I--”

“Oh, it's always about you, isn't it?” Merridew readjusted his frock coat, “Why don't you think about us, for a change?”

Simon had spent nearly his entire life thinking about them. It was a subject he had grown sick of. So sick of that in that moment he wanted to rebuke his master's claim, but he wisely held his tongue.

“There’s a lot hinging on this night for us, Simon,” Merridew continued, “For this house. If I were to let you come, it would be a guaranteed disaster, and none of us can afford that, especially you. Can you imagine how we’d look, bringing in a dirty urchin who feeds pigs to a royal banquet?”

Simon's eyes widened.

“Feeds pigs? Feeds pigs…” he played with the phrase on his tongue, then his head perked up, “Oh! Yes! That's right! I forgot to feed Piggy!”

“Oh, so you’ve done all your chores now, did you?” Merridew snarked with a wicked smirk.

“H-hold on, Mr. Merridew! I’ll get it done right away!” he was about to make a beeline for the back of the building, but paused, “Please sir, don't leave for the ball without me. I’ve been nothing but kind to you, and it would mean a great deal for you to consider letting me come along. After I feed Piggy, of course.”

Simon didn't want to stick around to hear his reply, instead rushing through the manor’s expansive halls and out the back door. He slammed it shut behind him and leaned against it, stopping to catch his breath and steady his racing heart. As he calmed himself, he felt a peculiar sensation in the pocket of his scrappy tunic, of something moving around inside.

“Alright you two, calm down, I’m letting you out,” he said as he held open his pocket, “Come on,” he coaxed. Two tiny pale yellow lizards quickly scuttled out and scaled Simon’s body up to his face, darting out their lizard tongues and giving him little kisses. Simon giggled at his pets’ affectionate gestures, and from the how much those gestures literally tickled him, but the thought of the matter at hand undercut his brief joy.

“Sam, Eric, stop it,” he brushed them away from his face, “I’m not in the mood. I’ve got something important to do.”

He placed his lizards on one of the fence posts that bordered the garden and ducked back inside. He came back out carrying a wooden bucket filled with food scraps, ones he had collected earlier from cleaning the dishes. He passed through the pigpen's gate and half-heartedly dumped the slop into the trough.

“Here, Piggy, Piggy! It's suppertime!” he called into the little hut in the sty, knocking the bucket against the fence post. The pig lumbered out, his snout sniffing the air. He was a bit aimless at first in his search for food, but eventually found the trough-- by bumping directly into it. Simon sighed and tapped on its edge and Piggy, tracking the movement and the noise, lifted his head up and finally got to gobble it down.

Simon felt sympathy for the poor, dull creature. It couldn't even find its food without help; it was completely dependant. He could relate to that sentiment. He didn't have a dollar to his name, as Merridew paid him in regular meals and a roof over his head; he was told that was pay enough, and he was lucky to get it. Many people had to beg and sleep on the streets. Thus, Simon was trapped in service to the estate, like a pig quartered in its pen.

Feh, pay enough indeed! He knew the real reason well enough; he could see it in the estate's crumbling facade. Merridew was losing money, fast. He had tried desperately to keep the place afloat ever since his parents up and died on him, and renting rooms out to his friends Maurice and Roger was one of many methods, but that could only do so much.

Simon just wondered how on Earth it hadn't completely collapsed yet. All signs pointed to it being inevitable a hundred times over, but somehow they always inexplicably made ends meet. But, again, he remembered Jack once saying in a hushed voice to the others that it wouldn't last forever.

That's why those three were going to the ball in the first place-- to get in the good graces of some of the more wealthy noblemen, or maybe even the royal family themselves, and somehow weasel themselves more money. In particular, they were focused on getting themselves acquainted with the prince of the land, Prince Ralph, who was an eligible bachelor with tastes of a more… masculine leaning.

All this had greatly interested Simon when he eavesdropped in on their plotting one night while he was doing the wash. It had certainly influenced his desire to go to the ball. After all, if it could help them with their dues, why not him? That ball could be his express ticket out of here!

That, and it would certainly be nice to have a night off…

He was thinking of all this as he fetched a pail of water from their well to fill the other trough. He came back and poured it in, Piggy gleefully lapping it up. Simon watched, strangely transfixed.

“You know, you've actually got it better than me, in some way,” he told the pig, “at least you won't be stuck here for too much longer, even if it's not in the…” he brushed his hand across his neck empathetically, “... the best way…”

Piggy looked up at him and, blissfully ignorant to matter the young man spoke of, wriggled his snout under Simon’s hand and tossed it over his own head, silently demanding to be pet. Simon, giggling, obliged.

“Good Piggy, good pig…” he cooed softly.

Just then, he heard it. The commotion of carriage wheels and horse hooves beating against the dirt, from the front of the house. He stood still as a statue for a split second, then made a break for the front, feeling Sam and Eric's tiny lizard bodies jumping onto him as he passed by the garden.

“Wait! Wait for me! Please!” He called as he chased after the carriage, coughing on the clouds of dust that were stirred up behind it, as it sped off on the dirt road that passed through the woods just beyond the manor.

He dropped to his knees, crumpled and defeated, as he watched the carriage shrink away and disappear into the maze of trees.

“P-please…” he pleaded tearfully to himself.

Sam and Eric were sitting on his shoulder now. Both gave him the sweetest licks on the cheek they could muster. He stroked one of them with his finger as he quietly mourned his lost opportunity.

_Snort, snort, snort!_

Simon twisted around and saw Piggy standing behind him, completely out in the open. Huh. He must've forgotten to close the gate.

Simon transitioned from the denial to the anger stage in his grieving process at record speed.

“ _Hey!_ ” He shouted, taking his frustration with his situation out on the poor beast, “What are you doing out here?! Get back in your pen, you dumb pig! Go on now, get!”

His tone, combined with his quick, threatening movements, spooked the swine. It darted off into the undergrowth.

“Great. Just what I needed right now,” he sighed, exasperated, “A lost pig.”

He slowly stood and carefully stepped through the brush.

“Here, Piggy, Piggy…” he called softly, “It's still me, Simon. I'm not gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I was just mad. Not at you, at something else. You’re a good pig. You did nothing wrong. Here, Piggy, Piggy...”

He made his way through the brambles until he tumbled into a clearing. Piggy was standing close by, staring up at something tensely. Simon, in turn, looked up as well.

There was a man standing in the center of the clearing; a man Simon could've sworn he saw no sign of existing before. He wore military regalia, the especially ornate sort that suggested the owner was of some significant status. Maybe a lord or something…

But there were many things about him that were just… off. There was no war being fought nearby, at least none Simon had heard of. His uniform was stained with fresh blood, and Simon could smell festering wounds. His appearance face-wise was equally unsettling. His eyes were half-lidded, and so pale they looked dead. Flies were buzzing about freely, but the other animals, Sam and Eric and Piggy, sensed the otherworldliness of the figure and cowered.

“You! Boy!” The lord ordered, “Be a good lad and give me a hand!”

Simon rose to his feet cautiously.

“I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm no doctor.”

The lord seemed confused for a moment, then looked down at himself and said, “Oh! Yes! That! No, no, my silly little boy! I don't need help with... these!” The way he worded it tossed the very fatal-looking injuries aside like they were nothing, “What I ask of you is much simpler. I'm sure it's within your capabilities.”

“And what is that?” Simon inched a bit closer.

“Oh, well, you see this _lovely_ little trinket down here?” He bent over and pointed to the ground about a foot ahead of him. Simon's eyes followed the finger and saw a thick iron chain lying on the ground, formed into a circle, which the man stood inside.

“Would you be so kind as to just… you know…” he made a shooing hand gesture, “move that... _thing_ and clear me a little path? It would be greatly appreciated.”

Simon blinked for a second. He then bent over and reached his hand out to touch the chain, then stopped himself. He stood straight and stared the figure dead in the eyes.

“What's in it for me?”

The lord started sweating like a pig.

“O-oh, well, just the satisfaction of helping your fellow man! And really, isn't that reward enough?”

Simon shifted his weight onto one foot, “Well, maybe it would… if I was actually helping out my fellow _man._ But you're not one of those, are you?”

The lord said nothing in reply, but Simon saw him gulp. He was cornered, and he knew it.

“It was a nice ploy you tried to pull,” Simon continued, a touch self-assured, “but any mortal creature could get out of that circle, no trouble. And, well, everyone knows how much the Fair Folk can't stand iron. So I ask again, fae, if I help you, what's in it for me?”

The fairy rested his face in his hand and started to chuckle. It was low and guttural at first, but soon grew in intensity until it was a full-blown cackle. The flies then swarmed on him, to the point where his entire body was one big, wriggling lump of shiny black bugs. Soon some dissipated, while most hung in the air near his back, looking like a dark pair of wings. His head had transformed and was no longer that of a human, but one of a swine. Said head was not attached to the rest of his body, and instead floated slightly above the shoulders through some unknowable force. The base of the neck bled heavily onto the uniform, which looked about the same as it did before. His hands were now a strange hybrid of hand and hoof, and both were were rotting away as much as the rest of him. His cackle dialed back to a chuckle, but this one sounded much more sad than earlier.

“I... I thought I could’ve gotten out of this ordeal without doing any favors…” he said after a while, “I don't want to keep _doing_ things for people. That's _all_ I've been doing ever since those three brats trapped me here!”

“Wait, do you mean… Jack, Roger, and Maurice?”

“Do I _look_ like I know their names?” He said, flicking his ear in irritation.

He sat down on the grass and sighed, resting a cheek in his… well… Simon supposed you’d call it a palm.

“They weren't even favors, really. They made me do it. And they weren't even jobs I could have fun with, either,” he continued despairingly, “Just moving money around to keep them on their feet. That's so mind-numbingly dull! Dull and uninspired! And I've been stuck doing it for who knows how long!”

The creature looked up at Simon, fishing for sympathy, “Do you know what that's like? Being trapped in one horrid place and forced to do pointless, menial labor, and getting nothing in return?”

“Actually…” Simon pushed some hair aside, revealing the mark Roger's hand had left on his face, which had grown extremely pronounced in color, “I know exactly how you feel. They did this to me, and they’ve done much, much more than this over the years. Much more and much worse. I’ve cooked, and cleaned, and cared for them, and all I've got to show for it is this, and hundreds like it. So, yes, I _know_ what it's like.”

The creature was quiet for a minute as he stood again. Some flies landed on Simon’s cheek and crawled around over the bruise.

“We're birds of a feather, you and I,” Simon concluded, face twitching from the sensation of tiny fly legs on his skin, “and birds of a feather flock together. So, if you get something out of it, I feel that I should too.”

The fae tapped his chin for a bit, deliberating over Simon's reasoning.

“Alright, boy,” he conceded, “I’ll hear your offer. What do you want? Fame? Power? Revenge on those who wronged you?”

“To go to the prince’s ball.”

It was a simple wish, and so out of the typical range of responses to the question that the beast stared down at him in bafflement.

“That's… that's it?” He almost snarled the question he was so insulted, “I can give you anything in the world, anything your heart desires, and you choose to waste my abilities on a silly party? Can't you just go by yourself anyway? Why would you need me?”

“Well, firstly,” Simon gestured from head to toe; to his matted hair, his bruised face, the filthy rags that were his clothes, and his complete lack of shoes, “I certainly don't look the part. If they saw me like this, they probably won't even let me in. Second, the castle is miles away. I’d need a carriage to get there, and if I did walk, there’s no way I'll be able to get back before those three do. Then I'd be done for. All I ask of you is one perfect night, then I'll be out of your hair forever, and you won't have to worry about me ever again.”

“Well… I suppose it's better to get back into the swing of things with something simple… something like a stretch before a workout…” the fae reasoned with himself, “And besides... I can still have fun with this…”

He extended his rotting hand-hoof, “Well, boy, I suppose you've got a deal. A perfect night out for you in exchange for my freedom.”

Even though the creature had conceded to his terms, Simon still hesitated to shake his hand. The Fair Folk had a nasty habit of twisting deals around, he knew. That was why he’d only bet something as simple as one night of his life, for something as simple as a party. To ask for anything more would be foolish. But then, after properly measuring the risks, he thought of the possible rewards. This ball could be his only way out of this terrible place, and, like the mythical figure that stood before him, he was desperate to escape Merridew’s clutches. So, with a slight cringe, he took the fae’s hand and shook it firmly.

His lordship, after the handshake, cracked his pig knuckles, then twiddled his most finger-like appendages in anticipation.

“So, let's get started then, shall we? First, I need you to go back to the manor. Comb through all the mousetraps and bring back four mice. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter, just as long as there's four of them. Next, go to the garden and pick a pumpkin. Bigger is better, but any size is fine. Bring these right back to this spot, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Simon followed the fairy’s instructions, and soon set down four dead mice (live ones would've been too tricky to carry; besides, finding living small animals in the same place where Roger resided was like finding a needle in a haystack, except if the hay liked to regularly smash needles into powder with a hammer for fun) and a great big orange pumpkin in front of the pig-like beast. A grin spread across the creature's muzzle. The flies that hung in the air behind him sprung forward and engulfed the objects, the giant form of insects shifting immensely in shape and size. When the cloud of bugs lifted, before them stood four beautiful white horses hitched up to a luxurious golden (if slightly still a bit pumpkin-looking) carriage.

Simon stared at it in silent awe, his mouth hanging open. He’d never seen something so fancy in all his life. His lordship grinned at the young man's aghast expression, soaking up the positive attention. The Fair Folk were nothing if not egotistical.

“Now… what else do we need?” The fae rubbed his chin and hummed theatrically, then fake-realized what he was ‘forgetting’, “Oh! I know! Some footmen!”

A portion of the flies flew down and lifted Sam and Eric off Simon's shoulder and enveloped them. Needless to say, his pets being (in a sense) devoured like this put Simon on edge, even if he could guess what was going on, and he watched the two lumps of bugs grow and change with a quiver going through him.

The fae ignored Simon's distress entirely.

“Now, what else, what else, what else…” he rattled off in one huffy breath.

“Oh! Right! Of course!” His lordship exclaimed, snapping, again making a big show out of his ‘mistake’, “If we have a coach, we need a coachman! Now... I wonder, who might make a good candidate?”

The way he said the line made it obvious he already had someone very particular in mind. He side-eyed Piggy as he tried to wriggle away from the situation beneath the brambles.

“Ah, yes, of course! My fellow swine!” He beckoned the little pig with a hoof-finger, “Come here, Piggy, Piggy!”

A troop of flies dragged Piggy out of the brush by the curly pink tail while he scrambled to escape, squealing, hooves digging into the dirt. The insects on the tail hoisted him up, and soon more flocked to the little hog, until he was practically encased in a writhing, levitating black cocoon, still crying out in horror all the while.

Simon hadn't given the matter with Piggy much mind, however, as he was heavily focused on the well-being his beloved lizards. The pair had, from what could be inferred from the size of the swarms, grown significantly. The bugs cleared, and the little reptiles were no more. Instead, what stood in their place were two boys, who looked a few years younger than Simon and basically identical to each other, on their hands and knees. They were sharply dressed in mint-colored suits and bowties, with cartoonishly long coattails. Their hair was pale blonde, almost white, near the same shade as the lizards before, and charmingly messy. They craned their heads up and both squeaked in unison, “Simon!”

“Sam? Eric?!” Simon responded, baffled, “Is that you?”

They answered this clearly when they sprung up and embraced him, Simon laughing in relief. Then one got the bright idea to start licking his face again, and Simon cringed.

“Okay, no, Eric, don't… don't do that,” he said, gently pushing him away, thoroughly skeeved out, “That’s… that's a really... _weird_ thing to do when you're a human being…”

“Sorry…” Eric apologized with a sputter, his tongue still hanging out. It darted back in as he slapped a hand over his mouth, panic in his eyes, still not accustomed to his newfound power of speech. Simon judged by the way his eyes darted about gazing at himself that he hadn't noticed he was any different until that moment.

“Wait, you're Eric?!” Sam shrieked while staring at the other, confounded. He, too, then looked shocked at his own speech, fingers pushing his lips closed.

While the pair of lizard footmen inspected their strange new forms, Simon turned his attention to the front of the carriage, where there seemed to be something of a stir going on.

“No, sir, I got no problem drivin’ the coach!” argued a voice Simon had never heard before, “What I'm saying is I can't drive it if I still can't see nothin’!”

Simon circled around the back of the carriage until he was in between the two discussing, to get a better picture of the scene taking place. Sitting in the driver's seat was a portly young man, dressed in a similar manner as Sam and Eric, red in the face. He squinted down at his lordship, who rested his pig head in his hand(?), looking quite bored with the whole matter. Not wanting this to go on any longer, he clicked his hoof-fingers, and a pair of spectacles appeared out of thin air and plopped onto the driver's face. He quickly adjusted them to properly sit on his nose and sat blinking in astonishment as he took in his surroundings and himself, finally in perfect clarity.

“Happy now?” the fae questioned with an annoyed ear flick.

The driver nodded, “Very.”

It was now that he noticed Simon and waved down at him from the coach box.

“Hey Simon! D’ya recognize me? It's Piggy! I got a voice and hands now!”

“Uh, good for you…?” Simon said, shrugging, unsure of how to feel about all this.

“And I can see now!” he continued, pointing to his new glasses, “And you look…” he looked him up and down, smile drooping slightly, “...a lot grodier than I thought you were…”

“Excuse me, you literally used to wallow in mud, you have no room to talk,” retorted Simon.

“The obnoxious pigboy is right,” his lordship interjected, “You can't go to the ball looking like that.”

Piggy crossed his arms and smirked self-assuredly, then, realized what was just said about him, let out an offended “Hey!”

Again, the flies made quick work, encircling him in a living, buzzing tornado. They left him wearing a lovely soft green ball gown that glittered in the setting sun, along with white opera gloves, his long hair done up in a bun. The three servants looked upon their friend in wonder while he spun around, swooping around the skirt of his new dress excitedly. Then he made a perplexing face and lifted the skirt, exposing his matching flats.

“Huh, so this is what shoes feel like…” he said as he twisting around in them, “I have to say, not much of a fan. They're a bit restricting…”

The pig-like beast cocked an eyebrow.

“Would you prefer high heels made out of glass?”

Simon lowered his skirt.

“No…”

“Well!” The fae exclaimed, clapping his hoof-hands together, “That just about covers it then, doesn't it? Now all I need is for you to--”

“Wait, please, sir!” Simon interrupted, then, sensing the possibility of him pushing his luck, curtsied and said softly, “Sir, please don't think me greedy, I know you’ve done so much for me already, but I feel I do need one more thing...”

The fairy’s eyes narrowed.

“Go on…”

Simon's fingers ran across his bruise, which shown prominently on his face now that his hair was up.

“I should like for those three not to be able to recognize me, somehow. If they found me out, I... I…”

He glanced away.

“I don't know what I’d do…”

His lordship looked down at him, quiet for a moment, pensive. Then, with a twirl of his hand, he produced a leaf-shaped dark green mask, one that appeared to only be large enough to cover half the face.

“Take this. As long as you wear it, all who gaze upon you, no matter how long they do and how hard they try, won't be able to recall a single distinguishing feature of yours. Even those three.”

“I-- thank you! Thank you very much!”

Simon took the mask and held it in his hand, shaking in anticipation. Then he put it on, smiling, relieved that it perfectly covered the awful mark.

“And now…?” the fae looked at Simon expectantly, bouncing on the balls of his feet out of antsiness.

“Oh!” Simon chirped, having almost forgotten the bargain, “Yes, of course! A deal’s a deal, after all!”

He grasped the end of the iron chain and slung the whole thing into the brush. The fae, overjoyed, leapt into the air and boomed with laughter.

“Yes! Yes! I'm free, I'm free! Finally!” He shouted, hovering in the air on the backs of his insect minions, “Now, the first order of business is to pay back those three brats in kind!”

His ears drooped.

“Of course, I must figure out what I should like to do to them first…” he said, pondering.

“Oh, I'll worry about that later,” he dismissed the thought, “I’m free now! Free!”

He squealed out one final “free” and another roll of laughter as he flew off and disappeared into the darkening sky on a cloud of black bugs.

All four watched silently as the figure made his grand exit, and stayed silent a good while after.

“He seemed nice!” Eric commented, filling the dead air.

Piggy shrugged as the pair on the ground opened the carriage door for Simon.

“Eh, I thought he was a bit of a ham…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon goes to the ball!

The golden carriage bobbed gently down the path as it grew better and better maintained, indicating their distance from the castle was shrinking. Simon poked his head out the window behind his coachman’s head.

“You know Piggy, for someone who just got fingers not too long ago, you can drive pretty well!”

“I'm a fast learner,” the former swine explained, “Pigs are pretty smart animals, you know.”

Simon didn't say anything, but by doing so said quite a lot.

“What? Did you think I was dumb before?”

“Well…” Simon replied awkwardly, “You did… kinda… run into random fence posts a lot…”

“That's just 'cause I couldn't see nothin’!” he squealed, snapping the reins down crossly. The horses picked up the pace. Simon could see the imposing size of the castle from his seat. They were almost upon it.

“Well, yes, I see that now, it's just--” Simon went on, “This is so strange. So very strange. When tonight's up you'll be back to your old self again, and I mean… when you get big enough…”

“Big enough for what?”

Simon quietly skirted away from the query.

“... I mean, it’ll only make me feel worse about what they’ll do to you, knowing you can think like you can and all…”

“What do you mean? What’re they gonna do to me?” Piggy looked away from the road for a second to address Simon directly, his face confused. Again, the young man just kept his mouth shut, drifting silently and tensely back into his seat.

The coachman turned back and rolled his eyes. He supposed Simon was trying to spare him from something, but his newly human brain was innately curious, and had a desire to absorb as much as it possibly could. Despite the moment of puzzlement, however, he soon went back to smiling softly to himself.

This whole evening was fabulous for Piggy, actually, even as it was only barely beginning. His sight was clear, his words comprehensible. He had hands that could grasp not only the reins of the horses, but the reins that steered his own destiny. It felt as though the world had opened up for him, and he was overjoyed.

It would only last a few hours, though, he knew…

The pumpkin carriage arrived at the huge marble steps of the palace. Sam and Eric hopped down and opened the door for Simon, helping him safely step down onto the pavement. He beamed as he stared up at its towering ivory spires.

“It's… it's so much bigger up close…” he marveled breathlessly.

He turned to the pair of footmen and glanced up at the coachman, his eyes sparkling just as much as, if not more than, his green gown.

“Well, come on then! No use just sitting here! Let's start the party!”

“Wait, you want us to come with you?” asked one of the former lizards.

“Is that even allowed?” asked the other.

“Of course I want you to come! You guys are my best friends! My-- my only friends. I don't care about any of their silly etiquette rules if they keep me from you guys! Besides, parties are no fun when you're by yourself. So c’mon!”

Simon reached a hand up and assisted Piggy with climbing down out of the coach box, and the four ascended the marble stairs and strolled through the large palace entrance.

* * *

 

Prince Ralph stood on the staircase overlooking the ballroom, watching the people flooding inside and dutifully standing in line on the stairs to greet their royal hosts. One after another they came up and silently shook his father's hand, smiled vacantly, and left to go about whatever business they were actually here for. He sighed and rolled his eyes at the phony formalities. His father eventually took notice of this behavior and pulled him aside.

“Come on now, cheer up. This party's for you. Why don't you go socialize with some of the guests?”

“Fine,” Ralph huffed, slinking down the steps.

“It's not like I’ll get a decent conversation out of any of 'em, though...” he mumbled grumpily.

Reaching the dance floor, he was immediately surrounded. A horde of “adoring” subjects, all chattering amongst themselves and asking him for favors. It made him sick. The cloud simmered down soon, though, when he shot down their advances.

An ugly young man, a ginger with bright blue eyes, came up and shook his hand.

“I cannot begin to describe how honored I am to meet you, Your Majesty!” he chirped, sounding as if he'd rehearsed this in his head many times before, “I’m Jack Merridew.”

Ralph vaguely recalled the family name.

“Merridew… Merridew…” he attempted to place it, “Aren't you a fur trader or something?”

“Well, it's my late father's business, but I certainly wouldn't call it mine. I can't make head or tail of the whole operation!”

He laughed, as if he told a joke, but Ralph couldn't make out what it was supposed to be.

“You see, head or tail, like the… parts of a…” Merridew floundered to explain, but realized as he was saying it that it only made things more awkward, “Nevermind. How are you finding the party?”

“Pointless.”

“Oh!” he squeaked, a bit put off by the bluntness of the reply, “Well, that's just because you haven't found anyone to dance with yet!”

He reached out his hand.

“May I have the honor of your first dance tonight?”

“My, my... forward, aren't we, Mr. Merridew?” Ralph said with a slight, bemused smirk.

Jack took this as a compliment, even if the tone it was said in was not exactly approving.

“I'm a man who knows what he wants, Your Majesty,” he said with a wink. He took the prince’s hand and kissed it, not daring to break eye contact.

“I'm a man who knows what he wants as well,” Ralph said with a small nod as Jack's lips ceased touching his skin, then yanked his hand away from the hand of his subject, “and you, Merridew, are not it. So scram.”

Merridew stood there, stupefied, his pride severely wounded.

“Whoa, buddy, do you want some ice for that burn?” a young man nearby with a garish purple bowtie joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Jack shoved him angrily, and the other attempted to ignore the assault and turned his attention to the prince.

“You’ll excuse my friend, he has a bit of a short fuse when he doesn't get what he wants, like a little kid. Anyways, I'm Maurice!” He yanked at the collar of a short, black-haired fellow also nearby, who seemed to be trying to jump ship, “and this--” he piped with some difficulty, trying to keep the other in one spot, “is Roger!”

Roger, finding himself trapped by social convention, said no greeting but waved silently, sporting a grin his face obviously wasn't used to baring.

“Oh, um-- hello…” Ralph said back, feeling a similar desire to abandon this sinking shipwreck of a conversation.

“Go on, say something to the nice man,” Maurice encouraged his friend, elbowing him in the ribs.

Roger seemed to be making some effort to speak, but all he could really muster up were a few “uhh…”s and finally, “Can we have some money?”

Maurice, immediately sensing the danger of the blunt faux pas, brushed this remark off as a joke, and automatically began overcompensating for the others’ ineptitude, vigorously shaking Prince Ralph’s hand and chattering about nothing like a magpie. Jack could see the blatant discomfort this caused in the prince, and ordered Maurice to cut it out. This led to an argument between the two, which gave Ralph an ample window to escape.

Ralph fled to the buffet table and, just to look like he was busy with something so people wouldn't talk to him, started filling a plate. He glanced over his shoulder a second, and now all three of them were fighting.

He sighed and turned back to the food, “Some people…”

“Oh, you think this is bad?” A voice said beside him, laughing a little, “You should see how they act when you're late with morning tea. It's a horror show!”

Ralph turned and saw a figure in a green dress, face half-covered with a mask. He blinked in astonishment at the curious creature, as they seemed to realize what they actually just said.

“Oh, just-- uh, forget I said that. I didn't mean to say it so loud...” they said nervously.

“H… how did you get in here?”

“A-am I not allowed in?” asked the figure, vaguely threatened.

“No, no!” Ralph reassured, “It's just… nearly everybody who comes in comes up to greet us first… it's a… customary thing…”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry then--”

“Oh, trust me, there's no need to apologise to me,” he made a dismissive hand gesture, “I think it's a silly idea anyways. It's not like anyone who comes in actually cares about us in any way other than status, so why even bother pretending?”

The figure thought for a second. They seemed about to approach some subject, but was cautious to say anything. Then, they ventured to speak their mind.

“Y-you know, for someone who's supposedly disillusioned with this whole status thing, all these fancy people in fancy clothes eating fancy food at _your_ ball say otherwise...”

“It's not my ball. It's my father's, really, he just put my name on it. He wants me to settle down with someone, and this is the sort of crowd he prefers. And, well, this is the sort of crowd I’ll _have_ to prefer, given my lot in life...”

The disguised person grimaced a little at the use of the phrase.

“Oh, you poor thing,” they said with an eye roll, “What a terrible lot in life you have, living in a palace, being future heir to the throne, having all that wealth and power. It must be _so_ difficult…”

They started walking away to a small table, where an entire green-clad entourage was sitting.

“Well, maybe you're right about that,” the prince admitted, trotting close behind, “But what about you, then? What are you here for, if not to make yourself look better?”

They stopped and turned.

“Your Majesty, I don't have anything to prove. I'm just here to have a good time, and that's it.”

With this, they left to join the group at the table.

Prince Ralph watched as the green dress swished across the ballroom floor, deeply intrigued by the person who wore it. Now things were finally getting interesting. He hung back a few seconds, then wandered over to the group’s table.

“Hello there!” he addressed the party with those typical royal manners and charm, “Would you all be so kind as to allow me to sit with you?”

Of course, they welcomed him, the two identical servants taking an empty seat from another table, and the masked figure making some room between them and the portly young man.

“So, we meet again! What an... unexpected twist of fate!” joked the person beneath the mask.

Ralph chuckled in a guarded manner.

“Don't worry,” they assured, smiling slyly, “I didn't mind the staring.”

A strange expression glazed over their eyes, like even they were off-put by the blunt flirtatiousness of the comment.

“Hey!” Ralph snipped back in jest, trying to keep the atmosphere light, “I’m supposed to be the devilishly charming one!”

“Y-you think I’m... ch-charming?” They were blushing now.

There it was again. The confidence showing itself and then shying away again. It was that mask, probably. Anonymity did that for a person. But even then, they were still on edge. What did they have to hide?

Both went quiet and went about picking at their plates. The mystery guest ate well, but the prince didn't have much of an appetite.

“Hey, are you going to eat that?” asked the bespectacled fellow sitting on the other side of him. He seemed to have already licked two plates near clean. He looked over to the twin footmen, their places completely vacant of any evidence of a meal.

“What about you two? Would you like some?” the prince offered.

“Oh, no, no,” one refused for the both of them, “We don't eat that sort of thing. It's all a bit too high-class for us.”

“Yeah,” added the other casually, “mostly we just eat crickets and mealworms and things like that.”

Prince Ralph gaped at the pair, and was about to ask them to repeat what they’d just said, but he was interrupted.

“Ah-haha! Boy, those two are a riot, Your Highness!” the fat one laughed in an extremely artificial, anxious manner, “Th-they’re kidding of course, you know! They’re not, like, lizard people or anything! Ha!” He quickly changed the subject, pointing down to Ralph’s plate, “Say, can I still have that?”

“Uh, sure, go ahead…” he said, handing it over.

“Thank you!” he said, taking it with a little bounce in his seat. He set it down and looked as if he were just going to shove his face directly into the food, but stopped himself and took the silverware at his place in hand, in such a way that it seemed as if he’d never touched a fork before in his life. He shot the masked figure an innocently self-satisfied grin, which they returned in kind.

Prince Ralph cradled his chin in his hand, looking over to the mystery guest.

“You know, you surround yourself with the strangest people...” he observed.

They didn't seem sure how to respond to that, so they just continued eating. Ralph watched them nibble at what was left. Goodness, even the way they ate was strangely endearing, like a cute little bunny rabbit munching on a leaf of lettuce. Adorable…

His fingers curled slightly inward beneath his cheek. Was he already catching feelings? He must've only known this person for maybe ten minutes, tops, and he didn't even know what they really looked like. Surely it couldn't be love already, could it?

He shook himself. No, no, of course not. He wasn't _that_ superficial. All it was was an enraptured curiosity, enhanced by some minor level of attraction. That wasn't love, obviously.

But… that is how those sort of things often start, after all…

“Would you like to dance with me?”

The masked guest had just swallowed their last morsel, and now glanced over at the royal host with wide eyes and bright red cheeks.

“Wh… what did you say?”

“You said it yourself, you're just here for a good time. So, if you're up for it, I’d like to show you a good time.”

He stood up and extended his hand, smiling warmly.

The invitee looked at the open hand with longing, then over to the others at the table, silently asking for their input. The trio of servants urged them to go ahead, quietly nodding and grinning and generally expressing their support and approval. They beamed and gladly accepted the offer.

As the couple arrived on the dance floor, the unknown member paused in trepidation as they both got into waltzing positions.

“I'm sorry, I’ve… umm… I’ve never actually… danced... before…”

The prince laughed. “That's okay! Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”

* * *

 

The entire ballroom looked on as the prince and his partner danced across the floor, spellbound. In no way were they any good-- contrary wise, the person in the magnificent green dress was quite a terrible dancer. They fumbled the steps, stomping on the prince’s feet and constantly apologizing between both of their giggles. No, the reason they caught everyone's attention was because they truly looked to be enjoying themselves, as if they were the only two people in the world. They were radiant, brimming with the glow of happiness and young love.

The party-goers watched the couple dance as the band swelled. A certain redhead, sitting at a table with friends, glared at the two in disgust and barely hidden pain as he downed his third cup of mead.

After they waltzed for some time, eventually the rest of the room carried on and the couple melted in amongst the gentle sway of an ocean of people. It was like that for a while, the guests drifting along through dances and partners and conversations as if it were a dream and the flow of time itself appeared to cease.

That atmosphere didn't have much effect on the table of former animals. They chatted amongst themselves as before and Piggy indulged more in the buffet. After coming back to his seat during one of these rounds he spotted Simon and the prince sneaking up the stairs from the ballroom up to some other wing of the castle. He smiled.

“What a lucky bloke that boy is,” he sighed, then turned back to the twins.

“And, ya know, not just with this whole Prince Charming and fairy dealings business,” he continued on the thought, “just being what he is, species-wise and all that.”

“You think so?” asked one of the twins, cradling his cheek in his hand. Neither of them seemed to agree with the sentiment.

“Why, of course! Being able to hold somethin’ in your hands, to speak… it's wonderful!”

He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his suit, then held them out a bit in front of him.

“And this marvelous doodad! It's what makes me whole, wholer than than what I was ever meant to be, even. Pigs have bad vision anyways, but I could hardly see anything, ya know. But they don't make 'em for pigs, they make 'em for people.”

He put them back on his face.

“Not to mention the food’s much better than what they gave me before…”

He took a piece of meat, some sort of thick-cut fried strip with long streaks of yellowish fat, and bit down with a crunch.

The one twin’s eyes were half-lidded and unmoved. “Maybe for you, but some of us were plenty happy how we were, right Sam?”

“I miss my tail…” the other lamented as he stared down at the bare floor beside his chair, not really paying attention to the question but generally understanding the subject matter.

“Exactly!” continued Eric, “And I mean, you don’t stick your tongue out to smell, it just… happens when you breathe! It's so annoying, especially when there's bad smells! Not to mention how much better people's ears are than lizards, too. You’re stuck hearing and smelling way more than necessary and it's…” he shook his head, “it’s no good.”

In doing this, the platinum blonde hair atop his head swayed into his line of sight. He pinched a lock of it between his fingers and twirled it around. His eyes met Piggy's again, and he said, looking briefly up again to gesture at the hair he held, “Then there's this stuff--”

_WHAM!_

He was cut short by his brother violently slamming his hand down on the table. Slowly, Sam lifted his hand back up and drew it to his face, licking something off his palm. The other two stared at him, confused and even slightly disturbed.

“There was a fly,” he clarified succinctly.

Piggy let out a puff of air. “Well, anyway, I guess at least you two can take somethin’ good from the fact that this won't last too much longer…”

“Oh, quit your bellyaching!” Eric responded with a roll of his eyes, “What's the worse that’ll happen? You’ll just go back to the pigpen and have a nice cushy gig just sitting in there and eating. What's so bad about that?”

Piggy recalled his ominous exchange with Simon back in the carriage several hours ago. He was referencing something that might happen soon back home, but he didn't have the guts to say what. He pensively munched some more on his greasy strip of meat, wondering what on Earth Simon had on his mind in that moment about his future.

Just then, the table the three sat at jarred to the side. On the side that was bumped, a figure in an obnoxiously bright purple bowtie hung over them, one hand struggling to hold himself up and the other with a plate piled high with the same kind of meat Piggy had. He set it down harshly, drops of yellow grease flinging all over the likely expensive tablecloth.

“Heeeeey, fellas!” he slurred, “Guess whatti got!”

He glanced around the table with a dopey grin, his face flushed. It took him a few passes around to get a sneaking suspicion that things were off.

“Thisss… is not the right table…”

He tried to lift himself up and walk away, but stumbled over himself. Luckily, Piggy was quick enough to get under his arm and hold the taller young man up with his shoulders.

“Great great great…” he rattled in one hot, alcohol-soaked breath, then patted his hand down to get a grip back on the platter of meat. Piggy handed it to him, and the young man responded by giggling and stroking the thumb of his free hand on Piggy's plump cheek.

“I'm Maureesh…” he garbled in a low, almost flirtatious tone. He seemed to realize his error soon after and tittered with laughter, accidentally punctuating it with a hiccup.

Piggy grumbled. He was not going to waste his last hours as a human being looking after this clown. He asked “Maureesh” where he thought his table was, and he pointed in the general direction. It wasn't hard to find where Jack and Roger sat, for the whole table gave off the musty scent of mead. They greeted their friend with enthusiastic shouts, which were likely heightened by the fact that he had food. Piggy sat him down and the group devoured the platter of meat.

“Mmm!” Jack said with his mouth partly stuffed, “I haven't had bacon in years! I’ve missed it so much...”

Piggy turned now to walk away, since he had no more business being there.

“Yeah,” Roger replied, “I can't wait 'til we can finally chop up that little piggy in the backyard.”

The fat coachman froze.

Roger’s voice became gruff with the sting of alcohol, but it still purred with some sick pleasure. Piggy couldn't see it, but he was leaning close to Jack, as if spilling a secret. “I’ll tell you just how it’ll go down: we’ll have Simon bring the thing out, and have it stand on that tree stump near the garden. He’ll hold it there, hugging it, maybe crying. The sissy. Then, I’ll come out with the knife. I’ll sit down beside it, hold it down, and grab it by the snout. I’ve seen Simon with that thing, it's too tame to bite. I’ll pull its stupid head back and make one clean, straight swipe across the neck,” he demonstrated the motion on Jack's own neck, “I’ll let the blood drain out. Then I'll take the axe out back, the one Simon uses for firewood, and I’ll chop its head--” He brought his hand down on the table suddenly, all the silverware jumping from the blow, “clean off.”

Piggy broke out of his trance and fumbled back to his table as cruel, drunken laughter nipping at his heels like a hunting dog. He dropped into his chair in a cold sweat. One of the twins might have asked if he was alright, but the words didn’t stick anywhere, just buzzed about his head.

Buzzing. Like flies. Or maybe those were real flies, he couldn’t tell anymore.

His eyes flicked to the plate of bacon, to those delicious ribbons of meat that he now knew were crafted from the flesh of his kin, and felt the grease in his belly tickle his throat.

He was going to die. He found out he was going to die just when he started to enjoy living.

A fly sat on one of them, rubbing its front legs together.

Flies, why were there so many flies?

Wait.

That fairy…

What, was their time almost up already? No, it couldn’t be. It was still dark out. Unless…

Oh no.

“It’s only ‘til midnight!” he blurted.

“...midnight?” asked Eric, puzzled.

Piggy gripped the twin by the shoulders, “That fairy. He said he’d give us ‘a perfect night’, and midnight is the first moment of the next day, and that makes it not night anymore. Eric, do you know what time it is now?”

“Look, I couldn’t even process the concept of time until this happened to us…”

“Ugh, nevermind! We don’t have the time!” he tossed him aside, “We need to get out of here! You two, go out and get the carriage ready. I-- I’ve gotta find Simon!”

With this he ran off, up the stairs he’d seen the couple creep up not too long ago, praying he would find them before the clock struck twelve. He knew now it didn’t matter either way for him. Turning back into what he really was before they got home wouldn’t delay his inevitable execution any. But he felt a sense of duty to Simon, be it from the loyalty of a friend or the simple, ceaseless dedication of a stupid animal. That was all he was, wasn’t he, despite all his complexities? That’s what the people who owned him thought. But Simon… Simon was different. He saw him as perhaps not an equal, but still as a friend. Even before, when he wasn't human, nor had ever been. One of his only friends. If the spell wearing off too early didn’t affect himself, it would certainly affect Simon. Indeed, if he were discovered here, Simon’s punishment might even rival his own.

* * *

 

Simon and the prince stood upon a balcony that overlooked the whole kingdom, leaning on the railing. Simon had never seen anything like this before. The landscape looked so small from up there, the thick woodlands that hid Merridew Manor looked like a carpet of moss rather than a forest, and it kissed the star-studded horizon. It really put things into perspective, seeing the area as just that-- just another place.

“You’ve been very quiet,” said Prince Ralph, “What's wrong? Do you not like it?”

“Oh, no, no! It's a lovely view, really, it's just...” he sighed, “I’m just a naturally quiet person. It makes my life… easier.”

“Well, that's not the case with me,” the prince responded with a slight chuckle, “I have to take oratory classes every day.”

Simon looked at him and let out a quizzical hum. Ralph realized perhaps that required further clarification.

“It's-- you know-- writing and giving speeches and that sort of thing. To prepare me for the real thing when I become king.”

Simon nodded, this time humming in understanding.

Ralph leaned closer, grinning cheekily, “I’ll tell you the truth: I absolutely hate it. I mean, not all of it, I guess, but mostly. I’m alright when I have time to actually put something together, but having to come up with something in only ten minutes?”

He hissed through his teeth, as if the mere thought gave him physical pain.

Simon made a small noise in sympathy, then rested his cheek in his hand. His mask-free cheek.

“So, what about you?”

“Huh?”

“What do you do all day?”

The fingers on Simon's other hand curled slightly, defensively. “Why would you want to know?”

“I feel like… I feel like this conversation is a bit one-sided. I… want to know more about you. That's what people do when they have conversations. They tell each other about themselves.”

“Well I… I, uhh…” He wasn't sure how to phrase it, in a way that wouldn't alienate, in a way that wouldn't reveal what he really was.

“I... cook and... clean…”

Ralph laughed a little, “Really?”

“I-it’s a… hobby…” he lied, “It helps keep my mind occupied.”

“Besides that, I don't do much else,” he continued, “I don't… go out much. In fact, this is my first real outing.”

“Are you serious? Your first?”

“Yes, that's… that's why I'm wearing this mask, because I’m… shy.”

That was only a half-truth. That was better, he supposed.

“Why would you need to be? I bet you look just fine.”

He blushed a little. “Well I… uhh…”

“Why don't you take it off?” Prince Ralph suggested, “I mean, it's just you and me up here.”

“I… I don't know…” Simon spoke with hesitation.

“Come now, I’m sure you look beautiful.”

Beautiful? A prince calling a boy like _him_ beautiful? Simon's heart skipped a beat.

“Well…” Simon said, swallowing quietly to ease the dryness of his throat, “I suppose… since we're alone…”

His fingers grazed the surface of the leaf-like mask. Slowly, methodically, he lifted it, and placed it down on the railing of the terrace.

The disguise’s spell broke. All Simon's features came to the forefront, and Prince Ralph wondered how he never noticed them before. They were so striking: his dark complexion that perfectly complimented the dress of green, those eyes that shone brighter than the stars above them, the sharpness of his jaw, those unkempt eyebrows…

Then, his eyes found _it_ , and his expression turned from awe to concern. Simon realized what he must’ve been looking at. He’d completely forgotten about it, he’d been enjoying himself so much…

The bruise was large, its sickening red and purple hue covering his entire cheek. Ralph reached out, cautiously, and caressed Simon's face with the back of his pointer finger. Simon couldn't help his slight flinch, an automatic reaction to one coming so close, an adaptation developed from years of cruelty.

“Who… who did this to you?”

The question hummed in Simon’s ears and he felt uneasiness in his gut. What should he do? What should he say? What _could_ he say, even? He felt the phantom hand of Merridew’s dominance clasping around his windpipe, getting tighter and tighter by the second.

Luckily, a sound of feet scrambling on the floor inside and panting by the doorway broke the intense, thickening atmosphere. The couple turned to face the interloper, who was doubled over and trying desperately to catch his breath.

“Piggy? What are you doing up here?”

Ralph raised an eyebrow, “Piggy? What kind of a name is that?”

Piggy ignored the prince’s query and bumbled over to Simon, grasping him on the shoulder, “We… need… to leave… now.”

“What? Why?”

“I… figured out the catch. The catch to the deal. The catches they always have. You said to him you wanted ‘a perfect night.’ And at midnight, it’ll be tomorrow morning.”

It was here again that Simon felt a recognizable sensation: the tickle of a fly scuttling across his bare skin. This time, instead of his face, it was along his collar bone.

“Oh, no…”

Ralph glanced between them, “‘Oh no?’ What’s ‘Oh no?’ What are you two talking about?”

“I’m-- I’m sorry!” Simon stumbled over the apology as he sprang to his feet, “I’ve had a wonderful time, really I did, but I-- I have to go!”

Simon ran, the skirt of his ball gown flowing behind him, Piggy by his side. Behind them they heard the prince call out:

“Please, wait! Wait! I don’t even know your name!”

The thought that he should listen to the royal flitted into his mind briefly, in his adrenaline-fueled state, but he barely processed it. All he wanted was to get out of there. It was fun, but so overwhelming for him, this ball. Dancing with a prince was wonderous, but deceiving a prince along with it? He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the possible consequences, were his identity revealed. He’d be safer at home, despite the abuse, because at least it left him in obscurity.

As they fled, Simon couldn’t even begin to comprehend the world around them. Were guards chasing them? Was it just the prince? Were Merridew and the others watching? Did they get a glimpse of his face? He didn’t know, and really he didn’t care at this point. He didn’t even hear the prince yelling to him that he’d forgotten his mask.

One thing he did notice, however, were all the flies. The insects flew with them, primed to feast on their dreams as they began decaying around them.

He and Piggy dashed out of the palace doors and leaped into the golden carriage Sam and Eric had parked out front. Piggy snapped down the reins ferociously, and the white horses went into a full gallop.

Prince Ralph lingered in the doorway as the sped off, the green mask in hand. He lifted it and turned it about in his hand, studying it.

“Well, at least with this I can use whoever fits it as guide to find my lost--”

The flies swarmed about the object, and in only a matter of seconds completely devoured it.

“...Damnit.”

Meanwhile, the group in the carriage were fortunate enough to actually make it into the woods, but their carriage was falling to pumpkin bits and the horses were literally being eaten alive. Sam and Eric hung to the door for dear life as their own bodies were engulfed with glossy black bugs. Simon, his elaborate dress half-eaten, climbed through the degrading window into the driver’s seat with Piggy. The coachman’s face, despite the flurry of flies crawling on it, was steadfast in its determination. That, and it was also taking on a much more animalistic appearance.

Simon embraced him for safety’s sake as the once magnificent coach came tumbling down, and him along with it. He landed face-first in the dirt, and when he lifted his head the swarm was gone. His hair settled back over his bruised face and he was again reduced to a servant’s rags. Behind him were nothing but the smashed remains of a pumpkin and four dead mice. Two pale yellow lizards scurried towards him and up his lying body, settling on his shoulder. Simon smiled faintly at the familiarity of it all.

And he saw below him, tucked under arm, a normal, everyday pig. The swine snorted, and even human ears could sense the melancholy in the sound. Simon scooped the sad animal up in his arms and hugged him close.

“It’s alright, Piggy, it’s okay,” Simon soothed, “You did a great job back there, you know? You’re such a good pig…”

It was then Simon spotted a glint of something in the moonlight. Curiously, he reached out for it and brought the item near his face. It was, as it turned out, the glasses the fae had conjured for Piggy to use as the coachman.

“Well,” he said, grinning bittersweetly, “at least he left us something to remember it by.”

He clipped the glasses to his neckline and stood up. With one last longing look in the direction of the palace and his prince, Simon turned ahead and walked back to Merridew Manor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion!

Jack Merridew awoke with the heaviest eyelids he’d ever had in his life that morning. That and an absolutely splitting headache. He rolled over to the other side of the bed with a groan, pulling his blankets nearer to his person. After he laid like this a few minutes and made no progress falling back asleep, he slowly sat up, his body aching and belly queasy. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then lifted the lids open with some effort. Beyond his bed curtains, he saw a figure fussing about something on the dresser.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” Simon said softly after he turned and spotted him. He picked up what turned out to be a tea tray and walked over to the bedside.

“I made peppermint tea, sir. It settles the stomach.”

Jack hummed and let the servant place the tea tray on his lap. He took the teacup in his hands and sipped. It only took a few moments for it to cool his head, throat, and belly. It made him feel better, certainly, but didn't quite cure his hangover.

“So,” asked Simon innocuously, “how was the prince’s ball? I'm judging by how Bill brought you home you three had an eventful night.”

The mention of the prince drudged the headache back up and Jack groaned, rubbing his head.

“Ugh, don't remind me. I drank so I _wouldn't_ remember it.”

Simon pouted, “Oh no, that doesn't sound good. What happened?”

“Well, we met His Highness and everything was going well, we were really hitting it off,” he lied, “but then some palooka in a green dress waltzed up and stole my prince charming away!”

Simon fished through the wardrobe and found Merridew’s nightgown, which he pulled out and started to fold. “Oh? Really? Who was it?”

“I don't know, I… I must’ve got too drunk to remember. Probably some noble three provinces away or something…”

“I think I heard Robert and Bill talking about them. Something about some kind of… search…”

Simon quietly placed the nightgown at the foot of the bed. It was in that moment that Jack realized he was still wearing his fancy clothes from the party last night, and they still stank of alcohol. He grunted with some disappointment.

“You passed out as soon as you the reached the front step,” Simon anticipated a question (or more likely complaint) on the subject, “Bill and I could only carry you up here. I was going to wash it as soon as you woke up. You’re the lucky one, though. Maurice threw up all over his.”

Jack nodded with amusement at the anecdote. “Now would you mind, uhh…”

“Of course.” He opened the massive wood door to exit the bedroom.

“Don’t go wandering too far now,” Jack added, “Just stand out there. I’ll be needing you to start the wash on this.”

Simon left the room unobtrusively, like a gentle breeze. Jack started stripping himself down and his mind drifted. Now that the prince avenue was bust, what could they do to pay their debts? There were other social circles for the rich, other parties they could attend to gain others favor. Though, it would depend on whether or not the people also happened to see the prince of the land plainly reject him. They still had the fairy as well. And, he supposed he could, potentially, if push came to shove, pull up his bootstraps and--

A shiver ran through him with that thought, accompanied with a slight nausea. No, no. His father already worked so hard for this house. He’d spent his whole life building his fortune and name, up until his final days. Wasn’t that enough of a payment already? If it wasn’t, it damn well should be!

He slipped the nightgown over his head. No, he wouldn’t work for something he should already rightfully have. That was something someone of Simon’s ilk did, not a young man of fine stock and breeding like him.

The servant’s name popping into his mind reminded Jack of his presence on the other side of the door, and alerted him to something. Beyond the wooden door, Jack heard the faintest noise. It sounded like delicate singing, and small, bare feet skimming across the hard, glossy floor. As he listened in, he felt a vague sense of recollection. Did he hear that song before…?

Jack opened the door and Simon let out a frightened squeak and immediately stopped dancing.

“Here,” Merridew handed him the pile of clothes, “get the laundry done. And no dancing around and dilly-dallying!”

“Yessir,” Simon spoke succinctly, bowing his head. Jack was about to head back into his room to finish his tea and biscuits, when his ears caught Simon humming that almost familiar tune in the distance. He didn't know why, but he took pause in the doorway and wondered where he heard that song before…

Jack Merridew didn't wonder for long, disregarding the sense of déjà vu and going about his morning. He met Maurice a little bit before brunch, laying facedown on the couch in the drawing room.

“Aw, is the wittle baby still feeling sicky-wicky? Did he dwink too much?” Jack teased.

“Shut up…” he whined back.

“You never could hold your liquor.”

He lifted his upper body off the couch and turned to Merridew, revealing the dark circles under his eyes and the dribbling down his chin. “Oh, like you're any better…”

“Still, I can hold it better than you…”

Maurice grumbled, turning over to a sitting position and pulling his legs against his chest. He rested his chin on his knees.

Jack changed the subject, “So, where’s Roger?”

“He went out. He’s going into the forest to see our…” he paused, even now not sure how to discreetly address the magical creature they'd trapped long ago, “little friend…” Maurice scratched the back of his head, “You know, because of what... _happened_ last night.”

Jack groaned, “I just… I hope we can bounce back from it…”

“Oh, would you stop worrying? We caught that fairy just for this reason, as a backup plan! As long as we have it around, there’s no need to fret about anything.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, making it fall over in a puff when he released it. “You know what? You’re right. You really are right. I’ve just got this _bad feeling_ in the pit of my stomach…”

“That would be all the mead,” Maurice quipped.

Jack laughed, “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

He smiled at the friendly teasing, then repeated his “Shut up...” but in a much more affable tone. Both of their sour spirits were lifting.

“Besides,” Maurice said after a bit, “the night wasn't a total loss, at least for me. I met this really cute guy there; a bit paunchy, but cute.”

“Uh-huh. And you’re sure that wasn’t the alcohol telling you that?”

Maurice laughed so hard he snorted and playfully smacked Merridew on the arm. Just then, Roger walked through the door, his steps hurried.

“Hey, Rog-Podge!” Maurice greeted with a smile, “What's up, buddy? Is everything taken care of?”

Roger looked between his friends, his eyes wide with shock under his ebony locks.

“It’s gone.”

Maurice's smile disappeared.

“Roger, what… what are you talking about?”

“The fairy! It's gone!”

“Gone?!” Jack exclaimed, “How could it be gone?! It was trapped!”

“I don't know, someone must've let it loose!”

“But who could’ve done that? Our house is in the middle of the woods!” said Maurice, “Who could've possibly known about it and wanted to mess it up?”

The door to the drawing room opened again.

“Brunch is ready,” Simon informed them.

Jack's eyes narrowed with something that went far beyond suspicion. The three poked their heads out the door and tracked their servant down the hall. Maurice could already sense Jack's face reddening with rage, and he said shakily, “Now, Jack, cool down for a second--”

 _“That bastard!”_ Jack bellowed, and he shot after Simon.

He reached him in the kitchen, about to bring out the plates for the meal.

“Mr. Merridew, I’ll be out in a few--”

Jack hit his face with all the force he could muster. The tray of food clattered to the ground, china plates and cups shattering, and Simon came down with it. The air hung silent with shock and fury a few moments.

“What… what did I do…?” he asked weakly.

“Don't you toy with me, you ass!” he barked, “I bet you think you're so clever, don't you? You couldn't get your way with that ball, so you went and ruined our lives! And you were smiling about it! Singing to yourself! Dancing! Like you won a game or something!”

Jack kicked the urchin in the stomach, who rolled over and gurgled in pain. Maurice and Roger had caught up to him by this point.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?! Without that fairy, we have no money; with no money, we have no food and we can't pay for the house!”

He paused a moment, voice cracking, eyes rolling to the floor.

“My house. My father’s... house…”

He looked back into Simon’s terrified eyes.

“You selfish little brat,” he choked out with restrained, tearful resentment, “You _monster._ My father paid for this house with his own blood, his sweat, his tears. He spent his _life_ working for this house. And you went and threw it all away. And for what? Just to spite me?”

“I… I… didn’t mean--” he sniveled.

“Save me your crocodile tears!” he roared back. He glanced about and made a split second decision. He dropped down and seized Simon by his long cords of hair, yanking him to his feet, attempting to pull him along as he thrashed and screamed. Roger, seeing Merridew’s need for aid, snatched Simon by the wrists and pushed the two along. Merridew paused before the walk-in pantry, the door barred shut with a thick plank of wood.

“Maurice! Get the door!” he ordered.

Maurice stood there, petrified by the scene before him.

“Maurice!”

Again, he didn't move.

Jack huffed, then knocked the plank out of place with his elbow himself. He whipped Simon around and shoved him to the floor. He slammed the door behind him and threw the bar down. Hands beat against it on the other side.

“Let me out! Let me out!” Simon cried.

“Never!” Merridew shrieked as he pounced on the door, tears freely flowing, “You can _rot_ in there for all I care, you bastard!”

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was Jack's ragged breathing as his angry stare bore holes in the wood door before him. Then, slowly, a quiet sobbing resonated from within the pantry. Jack drifted away from the door as if sleepwalking, and he looked dead-eyed at his and Roger's handiwork, listening to the soft underscore of weeping. That moment between the three of them of simply standing there in the kitchen seemed to stretch on for ages.

Then it just… ended. The three continued on with their day as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. Or, at least, that's what they tried to do. Jack was still somewhat robotic as he crept up the stairs to go back to his room, which he had the feeling wouldn’t be his for much longer. Roger went out to the back to chop wood in Simon’s place and Maurice went back to the drawing room, laying down on the couch and staring at the ceiling. There was an emptiness within him, within the whole household, that ate at his mind. Was it guilt? But why was _he_ feeling guilty? He didn’t do anything wrong. It was the others’ fault...

Eventually, there was a knock at the front door. When Maurice opened it, there stood a messenger from the royal palace. Apparently, Prince Ralph was searching for the mysterious party guest who swept him off his feet the night before, and was leaving no stone unturned. The messenger advised him that all members of the household should look their best for the prince’s arrival, which should be in an hour or two. When Maurice shut the door, a big smile sprouted on his face. He ran through the estate and informed the other two of the prince’s upcoming visit. This reinvigorated Jack as well, even more so than Maurice. If they could appeal to the prince, maybe convince him to settle for someone less than some flighty stranger, they might be saved yet! The young men rushed to their rooms to get ready, the breakfast Simon made for them still laying on the kitchen floor…

Simon, meanwhile, had no clue his prince was out there looking for him. In fact, he had no clue if anyone or anything in the world cared for him at all. He’d just finished crying his eyes out and starting reflecting on his sorry state. Was this all his fault? Should he have just let the prince catch him? But, knowing his luck, he imagined that would’ve ended in disaster as well. Tears began flowing again. Maybe this was the true price for the fairy’s services. One perfect night, but every other day would be awful, with no one to love him, no one to give him comfort…

Just then, he felt two tiny tongues lick away his tears.

“Sam! Eric!” he cried, the two lizards falling from his face and into his hands. He’d forgotten they were still in his pocket, despite it being their usual hiding place. “Oh, Sam and Eric! I’m so happy to see you!”

He paused a moment, trying to formulate what exactly he should say to his pets, or even if it was worth saying at all. But he figured he had to try _something,_ at least…

“Sam, Eric,” he addressed his lizard friends, “I-I don’t know if you still have the human intelligence to understand what I’m saying to you, but if you do, I _beg_ you, listen. You-you have to do something to get me out of here! I-I don’t know how you would, but I…” he trailed off for a moment as realized how ridiculous what he was about to say was to two animals that might not even be sapient anymore, but then decided to lean into it, “I have faith in you. I know you two care about me and… and you’re my best friends, and I don’t feel ashamed to say that. I know you can do it.”

He lowered his hands to the floor, and the twin lizards jumped out of them and slipped under the locked pantry door.

Outside, the figures of Roger and Merridew loomed in the kitchen.

“I don’t understand why I have to clean it up! You were the one who knocked it out of his hands anyway!”

“I don’t care who did what,” Merridew spat, “I’m the master of the house, so you’ll do what I say! The prince will be here any minute! He won’t even give us the time of day if our house is a mess! So pick up that broken china, now!”

“Fine…” Roger growled. Merridew exited the room as Roger reached for the dustpan and broom, grumbling all the while.

Sam and Eric acted with extreme caution, creeping close against the cabinets in an attempt to remain unseen. Roger was well-known for his hobby of torturing little critters he came across, which Simon protected the two from. But here they were, out in the open, all by themselves. It was a tricky spot, to be sure, but one good thing did come out of it: they now knew Prince Ralph was coming over, likely to look for Simon. If they could just do something to get his attention when he arrived…

As Roger bent over and picked up the bigger pieces of china, his eagle eyes spotted the tiny reptiles scamper across the floor. He dropped the pieces into the dustpan and grinned sadistically.

“Oh, why, hello there,” he purred, “what’s cute little things like you doing in a place like this?”

He stood up and snatched the broom. With cruel glee, he smacked at the defenseless creatures. Fortunately, Sam and Eric were too quick for him. Thus, he chased them around the kitchen, yelling and swearing as he tried and failed to squash the little lizards. Then, there was the unmistakable sound of a herald’s trumpet blasting on the other side of the house, signaling that the prince had finally arrived. Roger unconsciously let go of the broom as he stood there, entranced by the bombastic tune. Sam and Eric saw an opportunity and started fleeing for the back door, a plan formulating in their minds.

Meanwhile, Prince Ralph entered the Merridew Estate, Jack greeting him enthusiastically.

“My, my, my, Your Highness! What a pleasant surprise to see you here!”

“Yes, yes, of course, it's a pleasure to be here,” said the royal politely.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” he asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.

“Well, I’m looking for a person, someone from the ball last night. I danced with them. Apparently, no one has seen them since, and I’ve checked nearly every house in the kingdom!”

“Oh, you poor thing! All that running around, you must be exhausted!” He slathered on the concern very thick, almost as if he were his mother.

Prince Ralph reluctantly admitted that yes, he did feel quite tired. He couldn't sleep after the party, he was much too focused on the charming masked stranger, his brain dancing with possibilities. Jack invited him to take a rest in the drawing room, and Ralph readily accepted.

Roger, meanwhile, was scouring the floor for the two yellow lizards. He figured the others didn't need his help to woo Ralph; after all, charisma was not exactly his strong suit. It didn't take long for him to spy one's scaly head sticking out from under the back door. He lunged for it, but failed yet again. He stood up and flung open the door. The skittering smear of yellow against the dirt was easy to spot, looping around him, almost mocking him. It darted some way, drawing his attention to the axe embedded in the tree stump nearby, the place where he’d been chopping firewood not too long ago. He licked his lips like a hungry tiger, dashing to the instrument of destruction and pulling it out as if doing so would crown him king of the land. He turned sharply to the tiny reptile, smiling madly.

 _Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!_ The axe head bashed into the soil. Still, the lizard was too fast. The little beast appeared to grow weary from the chase, however, and scurried up one of the fence posts of the pigpen, taking its rest on the gate with its brother.

“Now I got you!” he laughed.

Frenzied, he hacked at the small wooden gate, reducing it to splinters.

It had to kill 'em. It should've, at least. So where was the blood?

He looked up. There was that big, dumb pig, standing there… with little yellow lizards sitting on its head, squeaking. Before Roger could even react, the pig plowed into his legs, nearly making him topple over. When he caught himself on a fence post, he saw the swine and its passengers race inside the house.

Maurice crossed his legs idly and leaned back in his seat, watching the prince as he sat on the couch, a bit more hunched over than what would be expected from a prince due to his tiredness. He glanced over to Merridew expectantly, who made a hand motion for him to get on with it.

“Oh, Your Highness, you look dreadful…”

“It's alright, really, I’m alright,” Ralph insisted.

“O-of course you are!” Maurice chittered nervously, not wanting to disagree with a prince, “It's just… after all this trouble… do you really think whoever you’re going after will be worth it? What if they're not who you think they are?”

“That doesn't matter to me.”

“W-well! They’ve evaded you for so long, have you ever thought maybe they don't want to be found?”

“No, trust me, they want to be found. If not, they still need to be. I can't let them stay where they are.” The prince’s expression was troubled, as if something foul about the whole business crossed his memory.

Merridew butted in, “What my associate is saying, Your Excellency, is that… perhaps you’re not chasing a person, but a phantom. You're hunting an idea, an idea of elusiveness and fancy. It's a charming fantasy, but the pursuit is useless. You’ll never find it. So, why don't you just settle down with someone instead of always looking for something that can't be found?”

Prince Ralph looked up at Jack a moment, brow a bit furrowed. He looked ready to refute this suggestion as well, but the group was soon interrupted by some sort commotion in the hall.

“What on Earth is that?!” he exclaimed at the noise.

Not even a moment passed before he got his answer, but it still didn't exactly make a whole lot of sense. A pig galloped into the room, squealing, followed closely by Roger brandishing an axe. The seated party watched in horror, letting out shocked cries as the pandemonium tore through the room.

“Come here you little--”

“ROGER!”

He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“Why is that _thing_ in our house?!”

Roger scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Ya see, heh, that's a funny story! I may have, um… chopped up the pigpen…”

“Wha-- why-- how?!”

“See, I was trying to get these lizards…”

Jack groaned loudly and yelled, “You were supposed to clean! That was all I told you to do! God, I can't trust you people with anything!”

Suddenly remembering their company, Jack stopped himself and turned to the royal on the couch beside him, draping on his pleasant airs again, “I’m so sorry about all of this, Your Majesty! I apologise for my dumb hick friends.”

Prince Ralph’s gaze was turned downwards, to the pig. It had started tugging at his pant leg, staring up at him purposefully.

“I'm sorry about that,” said Jack, bending over and putting his arms around the animal, about to pull it away, “Let me--”

“No.”

“What?”

Ralph watched the creature, intrigued. Those eyes, there was an irregular sense of awareness to them that he couldn't quite explain.

“Let it go. I think… I know it sounds silly, but I think it's trying to lead me somewhere.”

“But, Your Highness, it's a--”

“Don't question me.”

That shut Jack's mouth quick. He let the pig go and made some room, still not thinking much of what the prince was suggesting, but not wanting to anger him either.

The pig, in turn, released the trousers and started ahead with an even pace. Prince Ralph stood and trailed close behind. The remaining three looked at each other and Maurice shrugged, and soon they followed as well. Ralph realized as he walked that there looked to be lizards sitting on the pig’s head, making little noises into its ears, which only further fueled his imagination about the whole thing.

The creature trotted into the kitchen, where the china bits, dustpan, and broom still lay about. Jack shot Roger a silent, disapproving glare. The pig stopped, finally, at the barred pantry door. It snorted at it, digging its hooves at the crevice between door and frame, as if trying to pry it open.

“Hmm, I wonder what's in there that's got ‘em all excited?”

Merridew ran in front of the prince, blocking the door, and rattled nervously, “Nothing! Well, no, not nothing, but nothing important! It's just some foodstuffs! The dumb pig is just hungry, that's all!”

As if offended by the remark, the beast bit Jack's hand. Hard. One could hear a crunch. Jack screeched in pain and only after that did it let go.

“WHY YOU LITTLE--!” Jack roared as he charged at the thing.

Ralph shoved Jack away, “Hold on now, let's not lose our heads, alright?”

“But it bit me!”

“This animal is very important to my investigation. I don't want any harm to come to it.”

“But it's _my_ pig! I can do what I want with it!”

“Not when it's doing a public service, you can't!”

Jack squinted, baffled, “Public servi--? It's a pig!”

Ralph lifted the plank of wood, “And so are you, and we're not debating whether or not I can legally hurt you, are we?”

Jack remembered as the prince rested the plank upright what he was doing before the pig tangent, what he was trying to prevent.

“Your Highness, please, don't open that!”

His plea fell on deaf ears. The royal swung the pantry door open, and out tumbled Simon, right on top of him. Time stood still when they locked eyes. Those wonderful, bright eyes, Ralph would know them anywhere! That jaw, those eyebrows! It was them!

“H… hello there...” said the prince in a small voice.

“H… hi...”

Ralph’s fingers caressed Simon’s face, now much more bruised than it was when they last met. The black cords of hair swayed like windchimes in a gentle breeze at the motion.

“You know…” Ralph smiled softly, “I think you look better with your hair down…”

Simon was overcome. He sat up, grinned and let out wheezy, tearful chuckles, shaking his head.

“God, I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming right now. That’s the only way any of this makes any sense. It can’t actually be real...”

Ralph rose and planted a kiss on his cheek. Simon’s eyes widened in awe and he looked back to Ralph as he pulled away.

“Was that real enough for you?”

Simon’s face turned crimson, “Uhhh…!”

The three standing around them were equally flabbergasted by what they just witnessed.

“Wait, what’s going on?!” cried Merridew, “Why are you kissing my servant instead of _me_ ?! What kind of royal are you, smooching up on this… _thing_?!”

Ralph grimaced at him in disgust, then looked to Simon, “Come on now, let’s get you out of this hellhole.”

As they got up and walked away, Jack followed, demanding Simon to stop this instant. At first, Simon tried to ignore it, but goodness, he’d been doing that for so many years…

When they got out the front door, he snapped. Not in a dramatic fashion, but a break in character was definitely involved.

“No.”

“No?” Jack echoed, “No…” He held his chin, contemplating the word. “Is that really how you're going to treat me? Me, the person who gave you a place to live, food, steady work? I didn't have to do that, you know. I could have just threw you out the moment my folks croaked. But I didn't. I was too sentimental. I just couldn't let a piece of them go, even if it was just the child of one of their dearest servants. You know what? Maybe I should have. At least the rats that would eat the crumbs off the floor in your absence would make better company.”

Simon remained firm. “That won't work anymore. I'm not afraid of you. So would you kindly leave me be, and go back to hell, where you belong.”

With that, he left Merridew silent, but flushed red with rage and humiliation. The footman opened the royal carriage door, and the two sweethearts climbed inside. Piggy, Sam and Eric still on his head, hopped in after them.

“Wait! The pig too?!” Jack exploded as his last asset ran away from him, “That's my property! I was going to kill and eat that!”

Ralph patted the swine on the side, “I think this animal has done more than enough to earn a royal pardon, wouldn't you say?”

The prince smiled smugly as the carriage door shut. The three residents of the Merridew Estate stared at it with bewildered faces, even after it left their line of sight.

* * *

 

The prince and his pauper sat together in silence for a while. Neither was quite sure what to say. It had truly been an eventful day. Simon's face still hurt, yet tingled from the memory of the prince’s kiss. Ralph glanced him and his injuries over once more.

“I came just in time, didn't I?” He broke the still air.

“Yes,” Simon answered quietly, “Yes you did…”

Ralph ventured further. “I'm sorry about how they treated you.”

“It's fine. You don't have to say that. They were the ones who did it, not you.”

It was clear from his tone that Simon didn't want to think about it anymore. Ralph went quiet again.

“So, what happens now?” Simon's eye twitched up to his savior.

Ralph lounged back in his seat, “Well, I was thinking, since you don't have any other arrangements, that you could come stay in the palace with me.”

“Th-the palace? Your Highness, you’ve already done so much for me, I don't think I could--”

“It's no trouble at all, trust me. Do you know how many empty rooms there are in that place? Too many!” He then added, “And you don't have to call me ‘Your Highness’ and things like that anymore. Ralph works just fine.”

“O-okay,” he mumbled with some trepidation, then spoke hopefully, “Ralph?”

“Yes?”

“I want to ask you something, but I don't want to impose…”

“Nonsense! You're not living under their rule anymore! You can ask for whatever you like, so long as it's in reason.”

Simon was quiet, trying to form sort of request he’d never been allowed to voice.

“Would you mind... kissing me again? I mean, giving me a real, proper kiss. I… I wasn't ready last time.”

Ralph chuckled, “Whatever you wish!”

His amusement at the delivery of the request faded and they gazed warmly into each other's eyes. Ralph leaned down, deliberately slow, drawing out the anticipation. Simon shut his eyes and parted his mouth slightly. Their lips met, softly at first, then firmed with passion. They embraced, holding the intimate position for several minutes. It was just right, but at the same time felt like it wasn't enough, but in a good way. It made them crave it even more.

When they eventually pulled apart, Simon collapsed into Ralph's chest, completely enamored and blissful. Piggy hopped up onto the area of seat left bare and placed his head on Simon's back.

“It looks like someone else wants a kiss too!” Ralph laughed, “Or at least a thank you. You should give him one too, since his nose is what _really_ saved your skin.”

Ralph meant that as somewhat of a joke, but Simon sat up and turned to the pig anyway. He scratched the beast on the chin and said, “You did a great job, Piggy! You're such a good pig…”

Sam and Eric squeaked, and Simon added, “And of course a thank you to you too!”

The prince watched as Simon doted on his pets, charmed by the idea of actually thanking them as if they could understand. Then, a snippet of it struck him with a sense of déjà vu.

“Wait… Piggy?”

* * *

 

The discovery of the runaway ball guest led to a gala affair the following day. Though smaller in scale than the ball two days before, it was no less elegant. Party goers mingled within the beautiful palace garden as musicians sang and played to celebrate the happy occasion. The prince and his lover danced together as before, though in a more fast-paced and lackadaisical fashion. Most peculiarly to some, a pig trotted about the premises, though its behavior was surprisingly polite for its species’ reputation, and it had a dapper little bow around its neck.

Yes, it was a lovely celebration indeed for all in attendance. However, there were certain unsavory individuals who did not attend for fear of bruised egos. This did not mean they still weren't curious about the proceedings, in fact it only made them moreso. And so, these three individuals found themselves peering over the hedges on the outskirts of the gardens, trying to view the party from afar.

“Ugh, look at him, prancing about like that, it's disgusting!” Jack Merridew groaned.

“Hurts my eyes just looking at it!” Roger added. Then, as if on cue, an insect flew into the corner of his eye. He let out an annoyed cry and winced, scraping the crushed cretin out, “Almost as much as these damn bugs!”

Both turned to Maurice for his commentary, but found him bopping to the distant music instead. After a beat, he noticed their glares, and joined in with an unenthusiastic, “Uh, yeah! Boo!”

They didn't look very convinced.

“What? It's a nice melody! Is it my fault that the _king_ can afford to hire good musicians?”

Jack and Roger served him deadpan expressions, the only noise being the party and a peculiar faint buzzing. Jack turned his attention back to the business at hand, and the others followed suit.

Jack grimaced, his teeth bared like a snarling bear, “If I never have to see a gruesome display like this ever again, it will be too soon...”

**_“Would you bet on that?”_ **

The voice struck out from nowhere, and the recognition of it and its otherworldly tone sent chills down their spines. Billions of tiny insect legs crawled about their skin, some real and some imagined. A grinning, bloodied pig’s head stung at the folds of their minds.

“You know, boys, I’ve had quite a bit of time to think about how I should… collect my dues, as it were. And I think now I have figured out the perfect subject of payment!”

The bugs that pricked their nerves steadily moved upwards.

“All those years I spent trapped in that circle, I could have been doing so many things! I could have seen so many sights!”

Flies swarmed about their field of vision like a dense black fog.

“And that's when the idea hit me! It's like that old human saying. Can you guess what it is?”

The creatures made their attack. They dove straight into wide, terrified eyes, and fought against tears and blinking and fingers trying desperately to rip them away. The fairy’s ears swiveled towards the humans’ first pained cries, as if this was the answer he sought.

“Yes, yes, very good,” the head nodded, independent of the body, “An eye for an eye…”

In the midst of the garden festivities, the screams of the three could faintly be heard. Ralph, ears picking it up, broke his gaze away from Simon.

“What is that?”

Simon touched him on the chin, delicately turning his head back to him. He gave him a sly, flirtatious look. “I don't hear anything.”

Ralph, charmed beyond measure, dropped the matter and instead let his love pounce up and kiss him. As their lips locked, beneath the exhilaration of it all, Simon felt that he finally made it. In all his life of giving he finally had something to take hold of and never let go...

A happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thank you guys so much for sticking through with me through this, and all the wonderful comments! I hope you enjoyed it! I kinda have a bit of an idea for a sequel, but I think I'll put that on the back burner for now.


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